


Thy Will Be Done

by Dogsled



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment, Abusive Relationships, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Comeplay, Conditioning, Dark, Demon Dean Winchester, Depression, Dildos, Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Flogging, Grace Play, Heavy BDSM, Human Castiel, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, Inappropriate Use of Angel Blades, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Aftercare, Not a Love Story, Oral Sex, Psychological Torture, Saint Andrew's Cross, Sam Winchester Walks in on Castiel/Dean Winchester, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex Cage, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Violence, Shameless Smut, Sub Drop, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 10:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/pseuds/Dogsled
Summary: [Complete] When Dean brings home a box that barely fits in the Impala's enormous trunk, he laughs Sam off by suggesting that there's a home bondage kit in it. But what he builds with Castiel in the vacant power station above their bunker home does indeed resemble some sort of sex dungeon, and what Dean asks for help with next changes Castiel's life forever.This is a story of extremely dubious consent, corruption and manipulation, where Castiel is explicitly the unwitting victim of Dean's cruelty. There's a twist at the end which you'll see coming if you read the tags, but please read them anyway if anything about bad BDSM or abusive relationships triggers you, as this is full of both. This story is the very definition of DARK FIC, so please stay well away if that's not your thing.





	1. Debutante

**Author's Note:**

> Last warning: I mean it. DON'T read if you have a delicate disposition and love a happy fluffy ending. DO read if you like filthy dark fic full of humiliation and coerced sex. Then, if you'd like me to write things like this more often, come and tell me in the comments how much, and/or follow my A/B/O WIP, which will be updated with a new chapter soonish (finishing this one has been taking priority) and is going to go to super dark places for all of TFW before it's done.
> 
> P.S. if you get to the end of this story and you think my warnings went overboard, I apologize, but I learned back in my HP fandom days that it's better safe than sorry when it comes to tagging appropriately.

If he’d only known then what he knew now, had seen the signs and read them as the warning flags they were, things would have been different. Of course it was pointless to dwell on the past, but he wondered, sometimes, if Dean could have been saved from going down this path; if perhaps there was something, some spell or remedy that might have offered him a kind of redemption.

 

And if there was, would Castiel have chosen that life for himself? For Dean, yes, but did he want that for himself? There were advantages to what they had become, after all. There were unimaginable pleasures.

 

\---

 

“You drove back like this? You had to tie the trunk shut.” Sam scowled at Dean from across the Bunker’s garage. “What is it, anyway?”

 

“It’s a home suspension kit,” Dean answered. “You know? Bondage?”

 

“Haha, funny.”

 

“It’s a desk, Sammy. For my room, you know?”

 

“We have desks. You could have just asked--”

 

“I wanted to choose one for myself. It’s a late birthday present. Listen--are you gonna keep giving me the third degree or are you gonna help me get it out?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever.”

 

Sam grabbed one end, and Dean helped pull the box out of the car. With the two of them working together it was easy to prop the box up against one of the pillars.

 

“I’m alright with it from here.”

 

“You’re--” Sam shook his head. “You’re  _ alright _ ? There’s two flights of stairs between us and your room.”

 

“I’ll get Cas to help if I need it, Sam. I’m serious. Besides, he needs to keep his strength up. Now he’s mortal like the rest of us, he’s gonna get flabby if he carries on lying around watching Netflix.”

 

Admittedly Dean was only changing the subject to get Sam off his back. His brother had come down here while Dean was busy trying to squeeze the Impala back into her spot, and he hadn’t anticipated questions. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to dwell too much on what was in his box, or volunteer to help him put the flat pack together.

 

“Still…”

 

“You can’t keep letting him off the hook. You know as well as I do that what he needs is to get back on that horse, not lie around feeling sorry for himself. I mean it’s bad enough he lost his angel powers, but he’s not gonna be safe hunting with us until he gets it together.”

 

“Are you sure that’s what he wants to do? Hunt?”

 

“What else is he going to do? Sell sandwiches at Arby’s?”

 

“It would be safer.”

 

Dean shook his head. “Dad lived long enough with no training at all. Cas has an advantage on him, he knows what he’s looking at. He might be crap at it right now, but he’s got us. We can train him.”

 

Sam squinted at him, clearly hesitant. “We’ll get him killed.”

 

“Not if  _ I _ train him,” Dean continued, firmly. “I’ll kick him into shape, Sam. Don’t sweat it.”

 

_ Train _ him. Sure.  _ That _ was what Dean was going to do.

 

“Just send him up, Sam, I got this.”

 

\---

 

Castiel sighed, pushing his hands back through his hair. The last thing he wanted to do was get out of bed. He’d made a nest out of pillows, and it was remarkably cosy in there, a necessity now that he actually had to regulate his own temperature.

 

Surrendering his angelhood had been hard, but in the end it had been his only choice. If Metatron was to be believed then his grace was still out there, and perhaps one day - as Anna had - Castiel would be reunited with it. In the meantime, Castiel couldn’t bear any more of the grace sickness. It would have killed him eventually.

 

Now he was human, that fragility was entirely different, and completely terrifying. Now it wasn’t the eventual depletion of his borrowed grace which could kill him, but the possibility of  _ anything _ , from cancer to the common cold.

 

He climbed the stairs toward the garage, grimacing as he did. Was he out of breath? Ridiculous. They were only stairs. Still, he found himself pausing outside of the door to compose himself, patting his hair back into place and straightening his tie.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Here.”

 

Dean was leaning against the trunk of the Impala with his arms folded and his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He stepped away when Cas caught sight of him, moving toward a box that was leant up against one of the pillars.

 

“Help me out with this, bud.”

 

Cas frowned. The box looked heavy, almost Dean’s entire height in length, despite resting diagonally against the pillar. He didn’t like his chances carrying its weight. But he was desperate to prove himself useful in any respect, even if it just meant helping Dean out with his shopping.

 

The box was, if anything, even heavier than he expected it to be. Dean helped him heave it up one more flight of stairs into an area of the power station he’d never been in before. Huge pipes came in through the walls, bent at ninety degree angles, and disappeared upward. Abandoned walkways and metal stairs followed through the ceiling after them. Cas helped Dean prop the box against a bank of silent computer panels and shivered as he backed off.

 

“Hey. You cold, Cas?”

 

Castiel caught Dean’s gaze, lifted his shoulders an inch and dropped his hands away, stubbornly ignoring the chill he was feeling. “Not at all.”

 

“You’re right. If we’re gonna be spending a lot of time up here we’re really gonna have to get a space heater or something.”

 

“We’re going to be spending time here?”

 

Dean heaved his bag down onto the floor at the foot of the box. “Yeah. Little bit.”

 

Puzzled, Cas tilted his head, eyes roaming over the space once more. There was nothing up here. “Why?”

 

“Sam says you need to get in shape if you’re gonna be hunting with us.”

 

“I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Dean. I’m only going to endanger you and Sam. I tripped over just going to the bathroom the other day, I could have broken my foot or something.”

 

Dean just grinned at him. “Don’t worry, Cas. You’re not that fragile.”

 

Castiel despaired, looking down at his feet. Sure, he wanted to help, but he knew how this worked. He was awful at being human. “But I am. I’m fragile. I’m...I’m  _ useless _ , Dean.”

 

“You’re too hard on yourself, Cas. I can think of a few uses for you.”

 

When he looked back up, Dean was right in front of him. He placed his hand delicately on Cas’ cheek, and he found himself bending gratefully into the warm touch. He needed the reassurance so desperately, desperately yearned for needed comfort.

 

“You’re not useless. And you’re not just anyone, either. You’re  _ Castiel _ . You defied Heaven for me, remember? You’re way stronger than you look.”

 

“What do you want me to do?”

 

“You’ll see. For right now, though--”

 

Dean dropped his fingers and stepped past Castiel, returning with a broom, which he pressed into Cas’ hands. “Here.”

 

“You want me to sweep?”

 

“You start in one corner and work your way across the room. By the time you’re done you’ll feel warmer. Might even find you wanna take something off instead.”

 

Castiel nodded, and without another word he got to work, quietly watching Dean out of the corner of his eye while he started unpacking his box. When he’d reached the halfway point, having already shed his coat, he helped Dean carry his pieces over to the swept side of the room, and dumped the cardboard box on the stairs.

 

The more work Dean did on constructing whatever it was, the less focused Castiel became on his sweeping. The pieces didn’t mean much of anything to him as they were, but Dean seemed very focused on the construction, which was curious enough because Castiel had worked with flat pack furniture before, and  _ nobody _ enjoyed putting it together, not even angels.

 

Sweeping his accumulated mess into a big pile in the corner and propping the broom up over it, Cas turned back to squint at Dean’s finished creation unabashedly. It looked very much like St. Andrew’s Cross, which was intimidating considering they were a favorite of torturers. But this one looked surprisingly comfortable, considering, with plush leather riveted onto the hardwood. Dean was testing his weight on it, attaching restraints and pulling down on them.

 

The warning that they would be spending a lot of time up here came to mind. Castiel grimaced. He hated torture; hated participating in it, hated watching Dean do it to other people. It was one of the things he most despised that Heaven had instructed him in, and it had driven him to disobey when they had insisted that he have Dean torture Alastair. He had no interest in watching him work someone else over.

 

“Are we torturing someone?” he asked, unable to keep the edge of misery out of his voice.

 

Dean looked up, lowering his feet back onto the floor and stepping away from the cross. “Not exactly, Cas, no.”

 

When he made his way over, Castiel hesitated, suddenly struck with the wild thought that he ought to run away as fast as he could. There was something odd about the way Dean was looking at him, something hungry in the way he looked him up and down. But he held fast, determined not to be afraid even more than he had been determined to be useful.

 

Dean stared particularly hard at his mouth for a moment, and Cas touched it self consciously. Had he spilled lasagna on himself again?

 

“What is it? Is there something on my face?”

 

“You look hot. You really did a good job with the floor, huh?”

 

Castiel held still as Dean stepped closer, pulling Castiel’s hands down from his face and replacing them with his own. He said nothing as Dean undid his tie, hanging it off his shoulders, and loosened the top three buttons of his shirt, could only be relieved at the cool air on his hot skin. Dean’s thumb accidentally brushed against his skin, and Cas was ashamed that his body responded to such a small thing, arousal trickling through him like condensation down a wall, pooling in his groin.

 

Castiel flushed. He needed a cold shower. It wasn’t the first time that this had happened, and he was loathe to have Dean notice his shame. “Dean… If we’re done here, can I go now?”

 

“I still have something else I need you to do for me, Cas.”

 

“Anything,” Castiel blustered, hopelessly. Anything to get out of here.

 

“I need to test the strength of the cross. Throwing my weight on it is one thing, but I don’t want it to break while we’re using it.”

 

“So you want me…”

 

“To get up there.”

 

“Dean, I don’t think…”

 

Dean laughed lightly, as though it were no big deal. “Come on, Cas. You trust me, don’t you?” For all the charm he threw on it, Castiel still wasn’t convinced.

 

“Of course I trust you. I’m just not sure that this is a good idea.”

 

“What do you think I’m going to do, rip into you? I’d go up instead, but--” Dean’s face fell, “--me and these things don’t really mix…”

 

Castiel felt a rush of guilt for even thinking it - though of course it hadn’t passed his mind - and gave his head a valiant shake ‘no’ even as he said “I can do it.”

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“No,” Cas pressed. “No, it’s okay. I’ll do it. It’s the least I can do.”

 

He approached the cross with trepidation, looking it up and down, then testing the restraints. Realizing his hands were shaking, he pulled them back down, swallowing bitterly. Dean was at his back, sliding firm hands across his shoulders and scooping his blazer back, eliciting a fresh shiver from Castiel. This time it was anticipation not the temperature that made him tremble.

 

He cooperated even as he questioned Dean about his actions: “Do I need to take that off?”

 

“It’ll make it easier to secure you. I don’t want you to get pinched.”

 

“That’s...that’s conscientious of you, Dean, thank you.”

 

Dean hung Cas’ blazer over his coat where he’d slung it off a wall bracket which had once held a shelf, then returned to his side as Castiel put his back awkwardly to the cross.

 

“It’s okay,” Dean cooed, stroking his hands up toward Castiel’s wrist, gently guiding it upward as he did. He was so close that Castiel could smell him, although the scents were less familiar to him now than they had been as an angel. They were earthy, grounding, and Cas found himself bending to Dean’s will eagerly just to get nearer to him.

 

Wrapping an arm around his waist, Dean lifted him up, standing him on a shelf which would support his weight while Dean secured his other arm. It was barely enough to keep purchase on, soft under his shoes, but Dean remained close until Castiel’s second wrist was bound.

 

When Dean knelt in front of him, Castiel really did feel vulnerable, and he found himself guiltily checking the tightness of the leather shackles Dean had wrapped around his wrists, wishing he hadn’t so easily let him tie them. What if this was a trick? What if Dean was possessed? No, that was stupid. If Dean was possessed by something, he wouldn’t have  _ gone shopping _ . Hell, Cas’ room locked from the outside, there were far easier ways to subdue him than this.

 

It wasn’t completely impossible that Dean wanted to test the strength of his new equipment before he tried using it on the monster of the week, right?

 

Dean took hold of his left foot, and while Castiel watched nervously, he pulled off Cas’ boot. The alarm bells kept on ringing, dull but insistent in his animal hindbrain.

 

“Is that so that the shackles don’t pinch, too?”

 

“That’s right, baby.”

 

Cas felt his mouth go dry, a counterintuitive rush of desire going straight to his cock.  _ His cock!  _ How was he going to hide it from Dean now? How could he cover up the growing bulge between his thighs while Dean was securing his ankles to the other points of the cross? Stupid. This was just so stupid! He’d really screwed up.

 

And now Dean was calling him  _ baby _ . It didn’t make sense.

 

After securing his other ankle and therefore leaving Castiel completely to the support of the shackles, Dean straightened back out, looking up at him.

 

“You comfortable?”

 

Castiel bit down on his lip. He  _ was _ comfortable, but that wasn’t really the point, was it? People weren’t supposed to be comfortable when they were tied up like this. It was a torture device, after all.

 

“Yes,” he began. “But why--”

 

Dean put a finger over his mouth, and Castiel froze, suddenly wishing his senses weren’t so restrained in this body. Were they keeping quiet for a reason? Had Dean noticed something he hadn’t? 

 

But Dean looked right into his eyes. “I see the way you look at me, Cas. I know I turn you on.”

 

Cas flushed. “I’m sorry,” he said, heartbrokenly. “I can’t seem to get it to stop.”

 

Dean laughed, dropping his hand to Castiel’s shoulder and squeezing him firmly. “I don’t want you to stop.”

 

That drew him up short. “You don’t?”

 

“I don’t. I like to know I turn you on, Cas. It feels really good. Do you want to see how good it feels to know you get hot for me?”

 

Castiel was too stunned to reply. He had no idea how this conversation had taken this turn. What was Dean saying to him? His brain had short-circuited, and it did a somersault when Dean began to undo his fly right in front of him, taking out his already half hard erection and stroking it confidently.

 

Castiel stared. He couldn’t help himself. And Dean, in turn, stared at him.

 

“See, Cas? I’m getting hard for you. Now you’ve seen mine, don’t you think I should get to see yours?”

 

This wasn’t happening. That had to be it. His fragile human brain had broken somehow, and he was hallucinating this strangeness, like another of those dreams that had him waking up with dirty sheets. It was all just happening so relentlessly fast that Cas couldn’t quite function well enough to think through an intelligent answer. He was dumbfounded, lost, staring at the thick curve of Dean’s dick cocked like a pistol in his left hand, practically showing it off to him like it was merchandise on QVC.

 

Drowning in confusion, Castiel nodded anyway. It sounded perfectly reasonable. And Dean let his dick just hang there through parted denim while he used both hands to work open Castiel’s fly. It was such a relief when his own cock sprang free that he breathed out a shaky moan, and Dean laughed at him as he teased his thumb across the slit, eliciting even more noises.

 

“I bet you haven’t even touched yourself in the shower thinking about me. You’re that ashamed, aren’t you? But there’s nothing to be ashamed about, Cas. It’s human nature.”

 

“Why now?” Castiel asked, helplessly.

 

“Why not now? You’re human now, Cas. You can give me something back, something you never could as an angel.”

 

Dean squeezed him, and for a second everything went gloriously white. By the time Castiel regained focus, Dean had walked all the way across the room and unzipped his duffle bag, rummaging around inside.

 

“Dean…”

 

Cas wasn’t sure why he’d said Dean’s name. Maybe it was a need for more comfort. He still felt like he was lagging several steps behind, unable to quite catch up with where this had led. Dean had never so much as kissed him, and in the space of a few minutes Dean had both exposed himself to Cas and taken him in hand, both things that Castiel thought required much more intimacy than they had.

 

Held fast by his shackles, there was nothing he could do but wait for Dean to do whatever he pleased. It should frighten him, but Castiel couldn’t help his arousal, and that desire was exterminating most of his other concerns. There was something very exciting about this, even as, at the very same time, it was utterly unexpected. Dean had never expressed any desire for something like this. If he had…

 

If he had, Cas thought, he would definitely have indulged it, though he had never really considered that in any situation, given what he’d experienced with April, he would ever enjoy being tied up for sex. He still felt nervous even now, would rather be on the other side of this, although come to think of it he sincerely doubted Dean wanted to be tied up either. But he trusted Dean. He was dependent on him in other parts of his life, after all, depended on him for food and safety. If he didn’t trust him, he wouldn’t have allowed this in the first place.

 

“So,” Dean said, conversationally, “You and I are gonna have to do a lot more  _ training _ to get you in shape for hunting, am I right?

 

“And by training you mean sex?”

 

“Wow. Take it easy, Cas. We’ll get to the sex. Right now I mean  _ training _ . We’re gonna get you in shape, increase your core strength, your reaction time, your lung capacity, build you up and make you real buff. Sammy will be super impressed, and I get a little something out of it too. Not that you’re bad looking now, Cas, but no offense, you’ve been letting yourself go.”

 

Dean grabbed the handles of the bag and carried it over, dropping it by Cas’ feet at an angle that prevented Cas from seeing straight into it. There was a hint of silver and some bright colors, but Castiel was still at a loss.

 

“Sam will give us all the alone time we need, and even if he does come up here all he’ll find is a locked door. Doesn’t matter if he hears you whimpering on the other side of it.”

 

Castiel swallowed. There was something belittling about the language Dean chose, and he felt his own shame rising through, trying to raise a challenge. Dean was right, though. He felt like a failure. He had been letting himself go, was so far a failure as a human being, and  _ whimpering _ was probably an accurate description of the noises he’d make while Dean had his way with him. It accurately described the noises he’d made when Dean had squeezed his cock, after all. God only knew what sounds he’d make for Dean if he insisted on bringing him to completion. Sounds that he sincerely didn’t want Sam listening to.

 

“Do you intend to train me to hunt at all?” Castiel asked. He couldn’t help feeling immensely self conscious with Dean kneeling on the floor in front of him, his own erection cutting blatantly between them and making it difficult to hold his gaze directly.

 

“Sure, Cas.”

 

Castiel wasn’t sure it sounded like much of a commitment, but there wasn’t much room to pursue it, not when Dean pulled two things out of his bag at once, one in each hand: a blindfold and a rubber ball gag. “Pick one,” he commanded.

 

It wasn’t much of a choice, between being able to see what Dean was doing in advance of him doing it, and being able to tell him to stop doing it, but Dean looked insistent, standing up straighter and holding them out for Cas to inspect.

 

“Choose one or I’ll use both,” Dean persisted.

 

Not much choice at all.

 

Castiel curled his hands into fists and nodded at the gag.

 

“Really? So I’m guessing that means your trust in me only goes so far, huh?”

 

“I don’t know what you want from me!” Castiel cried, exasperated. “Please, Dean, I--”

 

But Dean, having dropped the blindfold back into his bag, once again laid his hand over Castiel’s mouth. “You asked for the gag, so consider yourself gagged. When I take it off again you can talk, but until then, Cas, you’re gonna be quiet for me, or I’m going to have to punish you.”

 

Castiel opened his eyes wider, parted his lips to complain, but closed them again. The threat sounded real, and he was too vulnerable to do anything about it. Accepting silence was the lesser of the presented evils. He nodded minutely instead, and watched suspiciously as Dean’s lips parted into a smile.

 

Hell, the last time he’d seen Dean smile he’d been a demon. Now, with the Mark on his arm, it was rare to see Dean anything but sullen. But this pleased him, and that was enough to push Cas thoroughly into favoring it, no matter his own personal discomfort. He would endure anything if it brought Dean emotional relief.

 

He even opened his mouth to accept the gag when Dean placed it against his lips, looking back into his eyes as he clipped it behind his head.

 

“Comfortable?” Dean asked again. This time Castiel nodded. He was comfortable but terrified, clinging desperately to his many years of trust in Dean to get him through this moment, wherever it might lead.

 

Dean placed his hands on either side of Castiel’s shoulders, still holding his gaze, and as his hands moved down over his shirt, Castiel once more felt the allure of being so prone. Dean pinched at his nipples through the fabric, and then casually began to undo the buttons of his shirt, all without Cas so much as able to make a sound to question him. Then warm hands spread the wings of his shirt wide, exposing his chest, exploring his muscles with calloused and eager fingertips.

 

Castiel had never expected Dean to touch him like this, but now he was doing it he couldn’t have been more grateful, hungry for more. His cock responded accordingly, so that by the time Dean began pushing his pants down past his hips, it was already stretching toward his touch.

 

“You’re a needy little slut, aren’t you?” purred Dean, embracing the swollen head with the curl of his open palm.

 

Wait, Castiel thought, blearily, past the splash of stars behind his eyes: how had they gotten here from “babe”? He moaned around the gag, and Dean ducked his head, seemingly to hide his grin.

 

“If you’re good, I’ll make sure you get what you want,” Dean told him. “I’ll make sure you get to come. Would you like that, Cas?” He waited until Castiel nodded to seize hold of him more effectively, stroking the shaft firmly enough that within moments Castiel was biting down into the chemical vinyl taste of the gag, pulling on his restraints in his efforts to buck into Dean’s fist.

 

The stroking didn’t last nearly long enough, and before Castiel could recover, the world had turned upside down, the table flipping one hundred and eighty degrees so that now Castiel was staring at the baseboard behind it with his feet up in the air, his shirt hanging down past his ears and his cock leaking onto his naked belly.

 

Dean’s feet circled into view, and Castiel groaned again, twisting his head fretfully. Between the position and the gag, it was suddenly much harder to breathe. He found himself twisting instead, fighting the restraints, eyes flying wider as he struggled. And then Dean was crouching down beside him, pressing his hand to his cheek, stroking his thumb against his parted lips. 

 

“Easy. Easy, Cas. You’re panicking, that’s all. Breathe through your nose for me. Deep breath. There you go.”

 

It took longer than one breath to regain his composure, but finally Castiel stilled, and Dean raised his eyebrows, waiting until Cas gave him silent permission to resume. It was as simple as blinking slowly, looking Dean in the eyes as he did so, and then Dean was standing back up again, looming right over him, one fist wrapped around his own cock.

 

“Next time, I’m going to make you strip before you get on this thing. I can’t do half the things I have planned for you with your pants dangling in the way like this.”

 

Castiel distantly registered the ‘next time you’ll be naked’ suggestion, but his head was swimming far too much to engage with it. There would be a next time. Dean had made that much clear already.

 

He groaned in complaint without really intending to, only realizing once he had - and as Dean laughed at him - what the noise actually meant.

 

“Just do it already? You’re so impatient.”

 

Castiel’s head was too heavy to keep looking up, and he let it fall back toward the pull of gravity. Ironic that, though he’d wanted to keep his vision, circumstances denied him of it. Perhaps if he had more strength, more muscle in his neck, he could have held the position for longer, strained to look up at Dean’s cock as he stroked himself. That was Dean’s plan all along, though, wasn’t it? Something about strengthening his core…

 

“Alright, baby. I got you.”

 

Cold, slick digits moved down his cock, making Castiel twitch and shiver, but offering none of the friction he was hoping for. Instead, Dean palmed his balls, heavy and lolling, before reaching between his generously parted thighs. Castiel jumped at the first brush of Dean’s finger over his hole, opening his eyes where they had fallen shut and jerking his head forward to look upward.

 

There was almost nothing to see, nothing but the first spurt of precome from Dean’s self loving as it dribbled from his cock. But he could feel Dean probing him, teasing with finger and thumb before pressing the first digit inside.

 

Now Castiel really did whimper, unable to hold his head up any more as Dean slicked him up. First one finger and then another pressed inside him, digging deeper, rubbing against the delicate internal walls, glands, and nerves, sending sparks of electricity through his veins. Castiel arched his back, toes curling from the pressure and the wicked sensation.

 

“You’re so tight, Cas,” Dean cooed, though Castiel barely heard him over his own blood rushing louder and louder in his ears. “I’m going to come just looking at you, you know that? Can you feel that?”

 

Castiel could feel his thighs trembling, helpless as Dean squeezed one more digit inside. There was a dull ache now, the position offering him no ability to spread his legs wider like he needed to. But it didn’t seem to matter. It didn’t take much longer before Dean was coming, splashing hot come over Cas’ belly and chest, his exposed throat.

 

When Dean’s fingers pulled out of him, Castiel felt frightfully used. His own cock was still leaking untouched, but Dean stepped back, and when Castiel opened his eyes to look at him, he was visibly admiring his handiwork, looking Cas over approvingly.

 

“You were great, Cas. Really great.”

 

Castiel made a pleading, earnest noise through the gag, staring helplessly up at Dean. He was depraved, dripping with the outcome of Dean’s orgasm, but all he wanted was to come. Why wouldn’t Dean let him?

 

“You want to come, Cas?”

 

Castiel nodded, upside down, and felt a rush of despair. It was replaced with relief as Dean came closer, adjusting the table so that it was almost level, though Castiel’s head was still perilously below the level of his heart.

 

“I have a way to make that happen for you,” Dean told him, kindly. “You’ll let me do anything to you, just so long as you get to come. Is that right?”

 

Castiel nodded a little more vigorously.

 

“Yeah, I thought so..”

 

Dean held up something that looked, in Castiel’s opinion, like a large rifle bullet. It didn’t look very impressive, at least not until Dean turned it on, and it buzzed fiercely as it vibrated.

 

There was nothing to do but stare helplessly at Dean as he reached once more between his thighs and slid the bullet firmly inside him. Castiel gagged and gasped, twisting against the restraints. The raw sensation cutting through him was like nothing he’d ever felt before, and his cock swelled, unbearably hard now, the head ballooning. 

 

All he wanted was for Dean to touch him, and it came at last in the gentle flicker of fingertips against his throbbing balls, a touch as light as butterfly wings. Castiel came without any further prompting, the world spinning beneath him as white lights and technicolor flashed behind his unseeing eyes.

 

He must have slipped into unconsciousness, because it was his own shivering that woke him. His sweat was chill, and come was drying into the hair on his chest, both his own and Dean's. His cock had almost shrunk back to its usual size, and now his entire body ached as though he’d been in a fist fight. It was an oddly satisfying ache. The vibrator, he eventually noticed, was no longer inside him.

 

Dean was fully dressed and tucked away when he reappeared, lifting the cross back into an upright position. Castiel moaned despite himself, feeling relief as blood rushed back toward his feet even as his weight was pulled right back onto his wrists again.

 

“You’ve been so good, Cas. You know we're going to have to do this again, right?”

 

Dean moved his hands around to the back of Castiel’s head, unclipped, then lifted the gag away. Cas’ mouth felt dry, his jaw aching, but he understood that he had permission to speak once more.

 

“You could have asked. I’d have given you anything you wanted.”

 

“No, Cas, you wouldn't. But it’s okay, we’ll work up to you giving me everything. We’ll get there.”

 

Dean brushed his thumb over Cas’ chapped lips, humming in contentment. Castiel felt slightly warmer for it, though he was still shivering. He yearned for Dean to lean forward and kiss him, but Dean only moved further away when Castiel stretched toward him.

 

“You and I will do another little work out tomorrow afternoon, okay? We’ll do some breathing exercises.”

 

Castiel nodded. “If that's what you want, Dean.”

 

It was. It helped that ‘breathing exercises’ turned out to be Castiel deep throating Dean for the better part of two hours. Eventually Dean came twice, but the lesson didn't stop until Castiel could rest the head of Dean's cock comfortably inside his throat for the space of ten straight minutes without moving.


	2. Raisonneur

Halfway into the week, Castiel was feeling torn. Every inch of his body ached, and the satisfaction of orgasm had been more than enough, of course, to keep him happy for days, but it was the wave of misery that had overcome him when he’d curled up in bed alone that Castiel hadn’t expected.

 

He just felt so...used. His physical exhaustion was nothing to how he felt mentally, how much he’d questioned himself over his cooperation, over his enjoyment of what he’d endured at Dean’s hands. The words that Dean had spoken to him, calling him a ‘slut’, still rattled around in his brain, and he could hardly stand it. He’d climbed up on that cross  _ willingly _ , hadn’t he? He’d taken the gag when Dean had asked. He hadn’t fought or struggled, even if the bruises on his wrists and ankles said otherwise. Since then, Dean had taught him to perform oral sex, using him until his jaw ached, and then Castiel had returned willingly to the cross, this time naked, and Dean had teased him for hours and hours with the little vibrator before fetching an angel blade from his bag and - to Castiel’s surprise - inserting that inside him instead. 

 

Last night had been the hardest to endure yet. Dean had introduced him to a thick black dildo, wider than the handle of the blade, bound him face down on the cross, and then beaten his ass with a wide paddle for what seemed like hours, but was probably no more than twenty minutes. The abuse had left Castiel confused and rattled--had he done something wrong? Dean hadn’t said it was a punishment, and there had been no warning that that was what was coming.

 

Even if Dean had taken him down from the cross and let him sit on his heels to blow him afterwards, then so gloriously returned the favor, much to Castiel’s absolute shock, the throbbing in his ass still felt so unexplained, and worse, undeserved.

 

Why did he feel like it was his fault somehow? Didn’t it being his fault imply that there was something wrong with what they’d done?

 

Dean hadn’t even looked at him outside of their training, though. Once they cleaned up, they went their separate ways, and despite the cosyness of the bunker, Castiel barely saw him. When he turned up for meals, Dean wasn’t there, and there was no cuddling in bed, no comfort, no reassurance, like Castiel had always imagined there would be in an intimate relationship. The hurt was terrible, and Cas had stayed up some time going through the events in his mind, staring at the dark walls and ceiling of his room unable to sleep. Exhaustion always dragged him under some time close to dawn, and he’d fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon in the library, wrapped around any book he could find that distanced him from his experiences. 

 

This morning Sam had needed to wake him up twice just to get him to stumble down to breakfast.

 

“Dean barely touched his so there’s plenty,” Sam said, waving his hand to a huge stack of pancakes on the counter. It wasn’t Sam’s usual breakfast fare, typically muesli or scrambled egg whites, but he seemed particularly eager that Cas eat up.

 

“He said you worked really hard yesterday, figured you’d need a big breakfast, you know? I don’t know what he’s got planned”

 

It was difficult not to wince as Castiel lowered his abused ass down on a stool at the breakfast counter. The polished wooden surface was hard and unyielding. Unfortunately, Sam was looking right at him.

 

“I’m going to tell Dean to lay off you a bit,” Sam insisted. “It’s all very well trying to get you in better shape, but he’s working you too hard. I’m going to be brutally honest, Cas--you look like crap.”

 

It was true, Cas thought, flinching. He’d brushed his teeth every night before crawling into his bed to not-sleep, and his mirror image had looked increasingly worse day on day. This morning he hadn’t even tried to tidy himself up before stumbling to breakfast, so no doubt he looked as bad as he had when he’d brushed his teeth last night, only with the addition of a bad night’s sleep on top of it. He sighed hopelessly.

 

“Hey. Hey, it’s alright. Just eat up, okay? Eat as much as you can, it’ll help you feel better. There’s even chocolate spread as well as maple syrup.”

 

Sam pushed both spreads toward him eagerly, though the concern in the twitch of his eyebrows and the way his eyes flew in the direction of Dean’s room made it clear that he was both deeply worried and ready to give Dean a good talking to.

 

When there were a big stack of pancakes covered in chocolate spread on Cas’ plate, Sam circled the counter, pressing a hand firmly against Cas’ shoulder.

 

“I’m going to go talk to him.”

 

Castiel blanched. “No. No, it’s okay, Sam. Please--”

 

“I insist. Come on, Cas. You can’t keep this up. We’re trying to keep you from getting hurt--if he keeps running you ragged like this, you’re going to get hurt just cause you’re tired, instead. How’s that any better?”

 

Castiel had nothing to say to that. He’d been tripping over his feet in exhaustion for days, and it did seem like it was only a matter of time before he fell flat on his face. He sighed, and made no further protest when Sam left, turning back to the tired process of eating, only to discover that his stomach had tightened to the size of a walnut. Stress and worry made it difficult to eat, and Castiel was concerned that Sam’s worry for him would only lead to further punishment.

 

Monotonously, he put one forkful at a time in his mouth, but only because he didn’t want Sam to be angry at him too.

 

Minutes later, Sam emerged in the kitchen again, with Dean trailing right behind him. Castiel flinched when Dean’s hand fell on his head, ruffling fondly at his already mussed hair.

 

“Hey bud, you enjoying your breakfast?”

 

Castiel felt his walnut constrict down to the size of a grape.

 

“You’ve gotta eat it all up,” Dean said, with a knowing lilt to his voice. “Sam says you need the energy, and I gotta agree with him there. You look like crap. Seriously, Cas. You couldn’t have taken a shower and brushed your hair or something? It’s a real turn off.”

 

Sam sighed, but busied himself with the coffee machine. With his back to them, he was oblivious when Dean leaned into Castiel’s space and licked a wet stripe behind his ear, drawing out a fractured shiver. He pressed hot, dirty words against Cas’ ear, where only the former angel could hear them.

 

“Who’s going to want to fuck you when you’re already so filthy?”

 

Castiel’s shoulders, already pulled high from anxiety, sank instead as despair pitted in his belly. He had this obscene idea that maybe if Dean just had sex with him the traditional way then all the normal things he knew about human relationships would come after, that Dean would curl up beside him in his bed, and kiss him good morning, and tell his brother that they were in a loving relationship instead of...whatever this was. Sam still didn’t know, and it was clear from the way that Dean practically teleported across the room when his brother turned back around, that Sam wasn’t going to find out about them any time soon.

 

But still, despite the contrary knowledge that Dean liked to  _ make _ him dirty, and therefore presumably had no qualms with a little uncleanliness, Castiel resolved to add a second daily shower to their routine, to put himself together better so that Dean would want him.

 

At least  _ now  _ he knew why Dean had beaten him so brutally the night before. Or, well, he felt as though he were closer to understanding it, though he still wasn’t sure why Dean didn’t just ask him to take a shower, or tell him how he felt about it in the first place. Castiel would have understood. He could do better.

 

But even after his shower, after brushing his hair and his teeth, and turning up at their prearranged time to wait for Dean to join him in the power station, Dean still didn’t fuck him. He turned up two hours later and somehow even more cold than usual, handed Castiel the lube, the dildo and the vibrator, and went to sit in his armchair, offering Cas no instruction at all.

 

Castiel came that night, but he did it on his own, longing for Dean’s touch and feeling, more than ever, that he was deeply in the wrong somehow.

 

\-----

 

The next day, Dean bought new furniture. 

 

Castiel, by then, was conspicuously aware of his position in their relationship, taking the role of receiver, never aggressor, despite it being contrary to what he felt was his own nature. Even so, they still hadn't kissed, and despite Dean penetrating him with his fingers, the vibrator, the dildo, and one time the handle of his angel blade, they still hadn't had sex. Last night had been the worst yet, and he was feeling raw and broken, hurting and run down. He’d not slept at all last night, and he’d poured the chicken soup Sam had brought him down the sink, unable to even consider eating it. 

 

Castiel was considering begging for it. He’d said ‘please’ and come up short of saying more, and he’d been gagged twice this week for reasons he barely understood. Maybe Dean just liked him gagged, his lips stretched wide around the gag like they stretched around his cock.

 

Still, Cas felt like he was failing to be what Dean needed every time Dean came on him rather than inside him, and considering even Castiel's most eager blow jobs ended up with Dean pulling out and ejaculating all over his face, Cas couldn't help but feel unsatisfactory. Dean hadn’t even let Cas touch him the other night; he’d walked out when Castiel had finished degrading himself without saying another word, and Cas wasn’t even sure that Dean had gotten an erection in the first place.

 

The new piece of furniture offered potential if nothing else.

 

Unlike the first, Castiel himself constructed this piece under Dean’s supervision. Once again, Dean sat in the low leather chair that he’d brought up from the library - the one that Castiel had spent so many hours now kneeling in front of as he pleasured him - with his feet propped on top of top of the duffel that was ever present during their “training sessions”. Cas was sure he still had no idea what the full contents of that bag were, but he suspected that he would know all of them intimately in due time. Yes, intimately. That was indeed the word he was thinking of.

 

Not for a second did Dean stir to help. In a gesture that once again left him reeling in despair, Castiel was left to work entirely on his own.

 

Castiel lined all the metal bars up along the edge of the thing. They seemed to be for support, perhaps decorative, because with the box that went on top it was almost certain that there was no way that the cage could keep anything inside it. It would be too cramped for a person. Still, it seemed like there was meant to be storage there, considering the hardest part of the entire construction had been putting in the barred door at one corner, making sure it could easily open and close. 

 

Once the bars were arranged, Cas tried to drag the top piece into place. It was too heavy for one person, though, and he ended up sitting where he’d fallen in front of it, staring miserably at the last piece.

 

He wasn’t strong enough. Dean would be able to move it on his own, but Cas was just a human now, and not even a very good one. If anything, he’d noticed that his sessions with Dean left him even more exhausted, his entire body aching from exertion and contortion. It felt like he was getting weaker, not stronger, and this was just another example of his own continued failings.

 

“Something wrong, Cas?”

 

Dean hadn’t moved, but he’d turned away from his phone and was looking over at him for the first time in at least an hour.

 

“I can’t… I can’t move this piece on my own. I’m sorry. I’m so useless.”

 

Dean looked him up and down, but didn’t budge out of his chair. “Show me.”

 

Castiel stared back at him, disbelieving, but then he pulled himself back up to his feet and tried again, lifting the heavy edge of the box only a few inches with both hands before letting it go. It slammed back onto the floor loud enough that the echo cracked all the way up through the power station.

 

“I guess you’re just not strong enough,” Dean sighed. “Alright, I’ll help. But just this once, Cas. I don’t want you to think that you can get away with not doing your best.”

 

Cas stared at his feet, and Dean came over, crouching at the other end of the board.

 

“Ready?” Dean counted down, and then they both lifted at once. Castiel still struggled with it, but it seemed to be easy for Dean. While Cas was already dripping sweat, it didn’t seem to be bothering Dean much at all.

 

They set the board in place over the bars, and Dean helped Cas settle it in just the right position, then reached for a wooden mallet, holding it handle out toward Cas.

 

“Thank you,” Cas said. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s okay. That’s why we’re doing this, remember? To get you strong.”

 

Castiel frowned at his hands, not daring to look at Dean. Was that why they were doing it? He was having a hard time remembering any more, but maybe that was a problem with human memory. His memories of being an angel were all crystal clear, but it seemed like his mental abilities as a human were slow. He often found himself doing things before he even understood why he was doing them in the first place.

 

He began to hammer the top board into place. Several inches of the steel bars disappeared inside the construct, leaving the bars tight. It would be strong enough to support the weight of several people--which wasn’t surprising, because like the cross, this table was covered in the same soft latex that was so very comfortable, and also so very easy to wipe clean.

 

Once all the bars were in, Cas tested his weight on top of it, just to be sure, and found it just as sturdy as he expected it to be.

 

Now there were finishing touches to do. The instructions said that he should attach shackles on the eight points on top of the frame, one on each corner and then two more down each side. Cas did this, then relaxed, standing back up to look the thing over. It looked just like it did in the photo, and in the drawn instructions. He sighed in relief.

 

“Looks good,” said Dean, from just behind him.

 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Cas said proudly. He was good at following directions, that was all there was to it. An angel should be good at following orders, after all, and Cas felt as though he had been well prepared.

 

He was very pleased with his table...bed…cage thing.

 

Dean was pleased too, and laid an arm across his shoulders.

 

“Do you want to try it out?”

 

Cas licked his lips. The whole time that he’d been putting it together, Cas had been more than aware of how much like a bed it looked. The latex pieces were soft and comfortable. It looked like a flat version of the cross, with no parts which would suddenly go spinning out from under him and leave him lightheaded.

 

He’d wanted Dean to have sex with him  _ all week _ , and now it actually looked like it might be a possibility, like they were finally equipped to actually do it. He nodded eagerly, then turned to smile at him. “Please.”

 

Dean beamed and bent in to press a kiss against his cheek. “That’s what I like to hear, babe.”

 

“Babe” was a secret word that belonged only in their training sessions. Dean didn’t use it at all elsewhere in the bunker.  _ Never _ . It was their secret. It was also a good indicator that pleasure was about to be had, and Cas was eager for the rewards.

 

Still, he hesitated when Dean bent down and opened the little door.

 

“Go on, then.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Cas said, uncertainly, his heart dropping into his stomach.

 

“It’s okay. I’ll show you how it works, but first you have to go inside. Oh--wait.” Cas hadn’t moved, but now Dean was striding back over to him, tugging at his clothes. “First you need to get all of this off.”

 

Castiel didn’t fight Dean’s hands. He helped as best as he could, shifting his weight back and forth, stepping out of his shoes and pants, and by the time he was done he barely resisted as Dean urged him forward toward the table.

 

“So… So I go underneath?”

 

“That’s right. Don’t look so worried.”

 

Cas tried not to look as worried as he felt. He had to get almost all the way down on his belly to climb into the cage, wiggling his way forward, then propping himself up on his elbows, trying to twist to look around. He could have just about wiggled onto his back, if he’d needed to, but he could see down the slant of his body as Dean closed the cage door behind him.

 

He was trapped inside the cage. It was okay, he told himself, it was just a test. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected Dean to close the little door behind him, but Cas was incredibly aware of the fact that he couldn’t have turned around in the tight space even if he wanted to, which meant he wouldn’t be able to open the latch on the outside.

 

Dean came to sit down at the front of the cage, near Cas’ head.

 

“How does that feel?”

 

“Claustrophobic.”

 

Dean actually laughed at him, and Castiel couldn’t help how devastated that made him feel. He flinched, lowering his eyes, not quite wanting to meet Dean’s gaze. His fear was humiliating, and after everything, after hoping for so long, and the ruination of the last two days… His ass was still sore from the beating, and all he wanted was for Dean to hold him; this felt like the last straw was breaking.

 

Dean reached in through the bars and stroked his hand back through Castiel’s hair. It was so easy for him. He teased his fingers back, and Castiel became that more aware how precarious his situation was. He was trapped here. He could barely move, certainly couldn’t move away from whatever it was Dean wanted to do to him--it was just the same as being tied to the cross.

 

Right. This was training, just like the cross. Somehow. He just wished he understood how it could possibly help. Unlike the cross, he wasn’t stretching the muscles of his abdomen and having to strengthen his shoulders and improve his own balance. This was, if anything, less movement. It felt so pointless.

 

Unless it was something else? Dean kept saying that things were for training, but it seemed… Castiel wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem like that at all.

 

What if Dean just...liked doing these things to him? What if  _ that  _ was the point of it? In which case shouldn’t he just say so? Couldn’t he ask? And why did Dean’s pleasure seem to mean that Castiel had to be utterly miserable? It seemed to counterintuitive, so opposite of the man that he had come to love. He didn’t like it, that was for certain. April had tied him to that chair and killed him, and just like he had then, he disliked the feeling of helplessness. This was suffering. It was  _ torture _ .

 

But Dean was stroking his hair so nicely, touching him so gently, with such affection, that Cas began to question himself all over again. What if Dean didn’t want him except like this? Couldn’t he adjust to that? The other day he’d had Dean’s cock inside his mouth for two hours, brought him immense pleasure  _ twice _ , and honestly, Dean had never touched him like this before. Wasn’t it worth it? Couldn’t he put up with a little humiliation if it made Dean happy? If it made Dean  _ want  _ to be with him instead of sending him away again?

 

Cas was so afraid of being sent away again, he was afraid of Dean leaving, afraid of Dean dying, and becoming a demon once more…

 

He could, couldn’t he? He could take this for Dean. He could  _ like _ it.

 

Castiel tilted his head into Dean’s hand, and was immediately rewarded with a thumb rubbed across his cheek, and a soft smile from Dean. They looked at each other again, and it was nice and pleasant, and what had he been so afraid of? Dean clearly loved him. That had to be what he saw there.

 

Dean stood up and moved away, and Cas watched his feet as he went over to his duffle, then returned with it, putting it up on top of the cage. He listened hard, as though by listening he could work out what Dean was digging out of his bag. But he had no idea, none at all, and he couldn’t even see what Dean was doing when he came back down to lean through the cage.

 

The unmistakable feeling of lubed fingers nudging against him followed, and Castiel spread his legs wider automatically. They slid inside him easily, and he huffed out a breath. He always felt so vulnerable, and this was no different. This was especially no different, trapped inside the narrow cage, Dean able to put his hands all over him without even trying.

 

He pushed those fingers in deep, two at once, and for a moment he slowly fucked Castiel with them, until he was gasping, writhing against the plush latex layer on the bottom of the cage.

 

“Please,” he begged.

 

Dean always seemed to take that as a sign that Cas was ready for the next stage, and by now Cas was eager to hurry this along, especially if it got him out of the cage. But Dean didn’t let him out. He nudged the hard nub of something against him, and Castiel breathed out as it was pushed easily inside. 

 

It had become so much easier for Dean to insert things into his body as the days passed, Castiel noticed. Every day he had used something, and usually he could tell what it was, or was shown in advance. Dean had shown him the angel blade before he’d used it, giving him quite the fright, but Dean hadn’t used the blade end at all, and when Castiel had orgasmed just from the sensation of the cool, holy metal nudging against his prostate, it had seemed so very unreal. Unholy.

 

Today, the thing Dean pushed into him was as long as the angel blade handle, but it was wide, too, like the plug. It didn’t taper like the plug, though, and Castiel identified it easily as a dildo, even though it seemed horribly wider than the one he’d grown most familiar with over the last few days. The stretch just didn’t stop, holding him wide open and piercing deep as well. He lay there sweating and helpless when Dean finally let up, feeling him wipe his hand dry on the flesh of his thigh.

 

“There. Good boy.”

 

And then Dean stood up, and Castiel bit his lip, waiting and watching as Dean returned to his bag and then circled to the front of the cage.

 

“Give me your hands,” Dean ordered. Castiel hesitated, and then obliged.

 

“Is it another, uh...a vibrator? I liked the vibrator.”

 

Dean didn’t make a sound, just wrapped a soft handcuff around Castiel’s wrist, and looped the chain through the bars, before affixing it to his other wrist. Finally he said “It’s not a vibrator.”

 

“Oh,” Cas said, unable to hide the disappointment in his tone. But it was filling him up so well, so thick and so deep--when he moved, he felt like he was pierced on it. “It’s so big.”

 

“It’s not that big,” Dean chuckled. “They had bigger dildos at the shop. But I thought you could take this one.”

 

“Oh,” Cas said again, and now he really was disappointed. “Am I not...am I not good enough for a bigger one?”

 

“Not yet,” Dean cooed, reaching in to pet his hair. “But you will be, Cas. One day I’ll get you the biggest one they have, and you can show me how pretty you look riding it.”

 

Castiel wasn’t sure whether the idea pleased or terrified him. He wanted to please Dean, though, and he was smiling again, and petting him so softly…

 

“Okay,” he said, simply.

 

Dean gave him one last pat, then stood up, and Cas was left to watch his feet again.

 

He watched his feet move further away.

 

Watched him unlock and open the door.

 

Watched him step outside and close it.

 

And heard the door click locked.

 

Twenty minutes later, underneath the soft hum from the space heater, he was pretty sure he heard the sound of the Impala’s engine throttling to full speed.

 

Slowly, Castiel began to realize that Dean wasn’t coming back, and then he began to worry that, maybe, Dean wasn’t going to come back at all.

  
  


\-----

  
  


When Dean returned it was already pitch black in the power station. It was still warm, blissfully, and Castiel had fallen asleep once or twice despite the intrusion of the dildo inside him, too exhausted from lack of sleep to keep his eyes open. Nightmares had awoken him, imagining the flash of black eyes as Dean pierced him with his cock. Castiel still wasn’t used to his nightmares, they felt far too much like reality, and it was hard to work out what was real and what wasn’t--even harder when the sensation of being fucked followed him from the dream out into reality.

 

Cas suspected it was maybe something to do with how much he wanted Dean to have sex with him. That was something humans did all the time, wasn’t it? Dreaming about the people that they wanted to have sex with. And the black eyes...well that was the ever present concern of the Mark.

 

He told himself he was just afraid of losing Dean, that was all.

 

He had just stirred from one of his nightmares, very slightly turned over onto one side to take some of the pressure off his shoulders, when the low rumble of the Impala broke through the hum of the space heater. Castiel drifted again. He ached from the position he’d been bound in, and the claustrophobia of the cage was even at work in the darkness. There was no moon tonight, even, to shine in through the high up windows. It was so difficult to separate his dream from reality, laying bound in the darkness. Was he asleep or awake? Had he really heard the Impala, or just dreamt it? He couldn’t tell any more.

 

And then the door clicked as the lock was turned, and Dean stepped inside, swivelling to lock the door behind him. Castiel could only see him for a moment in the blinding light from behind his silhouette, but then he could hear him coming closer, padding in the darkness.

 

Why hadn’t he turned on the light?

 

“Hey, Cas. You waited up for me, didn’t you?”

 

Castiel made a soft noise. He’d been so tired, he couldn’t help it. “I’m afraid I fell asleep.”

 

“Well that’s very disappointing,” Dean said, and Castiel heard him sigh loudly. It made his heart break a little bit to have disappointed Dean so much. Sleeping! Why had he done that!

 

“I guess I can’t blame you, I was gone a while. Sam said I should give you a break the other day, said you were run down from all our ‘training’--so he and I went to see a movie. It all worked out, right?”

 

Cas felt a swell of nausea. A movie? Dean had left him in the dark and gone to the cinema? The realization that that declaration hurt, if anything, more than the fact that he’d been left here at all--well, that was agony. Dean hadn’t even told him he was leaving, he’d just gone.

 

“I don’t understand,” he said, choked. His chest ached, and a moment later his cheeks were strangely hot, his eyes burning. What was happening? Was he broken? He felt like he was bleeding out of his eyes, like...wait.

 

He was crying. He was  _ crying _ . He’d never cried before! It was a human thing.

 

God it felt awful. And somehow good at the same time. Cas hiccuped a sob, and then he laughed around it, and he said, as Dean undid his cuffs: “I’m crying--D-Dean, I’m  _ crying _ .”

 

Suddenly the crying was much more interesting than lying in the dark, although the moment Castiel seemed to focus on it, it began to stop, despite all his effort to scrunch up his face and keep crying.

 

And then, as he lay there puzzled, something touched his ankle, and Cas kicked out at it reflexively. The touch went away, then snapped like a cobra strike around his ankle, and Dean was saying “Wiggle backward”. Cas began to wiggle, the dildo inside him perfectly uncomfortable the whole way.

 

It was such a relief to be out of the cage. His whole body was aching and sore, and it only hurt more as Dean helped him move his arms back down and positioned him on the edge of the table, right on top of the dildo.

 

Castiel could barely make out Dean’s features in the darkness, but he could feel his hands as they rubbed across his tear stained cheeks, could feel Dean’s body as he climbed up onto the bed, still dressed and a little cold from the world outside. Dean pushed him down onto his back, and Castiel wasn’t about to put up a fight, not when his body already ached so much, not when Dean was  _ right there. _

 

He was still angry at him for going, but…

 

Oh, he was sliding the dildo out, then pressing closer in the darkness, breathing out hot against his neck, bending in to kiss his collar bone…

 

And then there was something soft, something very unlike Dean’s fingers, nudging against his hole, and it was pushing inside, wide and long like the dildo, but soft, warm, twitching inside him.  _ Dean  _ was inside him, Dean was...was actually having sex with him, and Castiel whimpered, and tried to lift his arms. The pins and needles made it impossible. His arms felt useless, and Dean was moving into him, thrusting steadily, driving Castiel wild with the sensation.

 

This was definitely better than the vibrator.

 

At last he managed to lift his arms. He wrapped them around Dean and held on, moaning and whimpering, his cock - which had given up hours ago - already happily back to life and bouncing against his belly in time with Dean’s thrusts. Dean was still dressed, leather jacket under his fingertips, and Castiel held onto it as he was fucked into the plush table, Dean grunting and powerful above him.

 

This was all he’d wanted all week. God, it was all he’d wanted  _ for years _ .

 

And it was worth it. It was worth laying in the dark, abandoned all night, if Dean would fuck him like this. If Dean would  _ make love _ to him, pulling him against his body and hammering into him, making thick, urgent noises into the space between them. It was  _ amazing,  _ and Castiel was sobbing, crying out, coming all over himself far too soon.

 

Dean kept moving, almost chuckling at some points, and then he gave one last broken grunt, and there was suddenly a warm pressure inside Castiel, Dean twitching and jerking as he came.

 

Castiel didn’t feel used at all. It was just so satisfying, at last, to know that he had made Dean feel good. That Dean  _ wanted  _ to have sex with him--because, God, Castiel had begun to think that maybe he didn’t.

 

Dean lay against him, and Castiel stroked his neck, his back, sighing into his soft hair.

 

It was good. He felt amazing, blissed out, and Dean’s cock was slowly softening inside him, their breathing returning to normal, chest to chest, steady.

 

When Dean pulled out of him, Castiel just whimpered and lay back, his thighs trembling. He could hear fabric moving around, Dean redressing, but Castiel couldn’t stand to move. He was just so  _ exhausted _ .

 

“You coming?” Dean asked, after a moment.

 

Castiel made a soft sound of regret, and slid his legs down, but that only made him feel more sore, even more certain that he couldn’t move.

 

“Well alright,” Dean continued. “Guess your clothes are in here somewhere. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

 

“Stay--” Cas begged.

 

“Sorry, Cas. I don’t spoon. Don’t take it personally.”

 

Castiel sank back, deflated. Again, he heard Dean’s footsteps moving away from him. Again Dean left. This time he left the door unlocked.


	3. Provocateur

And so it went. It continued for the better part of the next month, and Castiel learned that there were rewards, that seemingly the more discomforted he was by what Dean wanted to do, the better the reward would be. Dean didn’t always have sex with him in the dark, but Castiel did discover, in time, that by the time Dean came he was not in a position to actually watch pleasure move across his face. He found himself yearning for it more than anything else, desperately trying to watch him orgasm and failing. When Dean figured out what he was trying to do, he became very fond of the blindfold, which Castiel hated more than any of Dean’s toys.

 

But Dean made love to him. Dean fucked him. Sometimes he did it more than once a day, but it was a constant flurry of sexual activity, and Castiel had to wonder if it was normal for humans to have so much sex. 

 

Some days he found himself limping, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible so that Sam wouldn’t notice and take pity on him - Dean was always colder when Sam stepped in on him behalf, and it was something Castiel worked hard to avoid. Sometimes Dean would make him wear one of the plugs around the bunker, then shove him into one of the communal bathrooms, pushing him against one of the sinks so that Castiel could see his own face in the mirror as he fucked him roughly against it. On those occasions, Dean would bury his face in between Castiel’s shoulder blades and moan against his skin as he came, and Cas’ come would splash on the mirror with the force of his ejaculation.

 

Sam seemed happy, though. He seemed to think that Cas and Dean were getting on better than they ever had, and he was delighted that Dean didn’t seem to be so burdened by the Mark. Cas thought so too, and had decided that the sex was definitely a good thing if it took away some of the pain and hunger Dean felt thanks to the Mark on his arm.

 

Yes. It was a good thing, and Cas began to feel less guilty about their lie. Besides, he  _ was _ getting stronger. Some of the muscle was returning to his arms and body. He could hold his breath for almost two minutes, now, and his stamina was already much better than it had been since he’d become human.

 

He wanted so badly for Dean to knew how happy he was. He wanted Dean to know, too, that he didn’t have to overpower him or tie him down for Castiel to be willing to have sex with him. Maybe if Cas came onto him willingly, if there were no toys involved, no  _ training _ , then maybe Dean would trust him enough, let him watch him reach orgasm.

 

Maybe.

 

He stepped inside Dean’s room, closing the door behind him. Dean was at his desk, and he looked up at Cas as he entered. He watched, without a word, as Castiel stripped his clothes off, right there by the door.

 

“Something you want, Cas?”

 

Castiel stepped forward, nodding. “I want to have sex with you.”

 

“Here? In my bed? What if Sam hears us?”

 

“I’ll be quiet,” Cas said. “I can keep very quiet, now.”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow, and looked him more firmly up and down. “What if I say ‘No’?”

 

“I don’t understand,” Cas said hesitantly. “No to what?”

 

“What if I  _ don’t want _ to fuck you, Cas?”

 

“You’ve...you’ve wished to have sex with me… You’ve had sex with me the last forty seven days in a row.” Castiel felt his voice tremble. He was throwing himself at Dean, but now he didn’t want him? Why didn’t these rules make sense? It didn’t seem to be fair. Just as he began to think he understood, the rules always changed.

 

Dean must have realized how hurt he was, because he sighed. “Alright. Alright. Just stop looking like someone kicked your puppy.”

 

“I don’t have a puppy,” Cas said, and he chewed his lip, stepping forward and reaching for Dean’s shoulders, giving him a little push. Dean went, and Cas felt a strange pull of relief as Dean let him push him over to the bed. Dean even took off his pants before climbing up onto the bed, propping himself up against the pillows, as Cas climbed over him.

 

It was light. They were face to face, and Castiel didn’t waste any time. He was probably slick enough inside not to bother with lube, more than fucked enough not to worry with preparation. He sank down on Dean’s cock the moment he was hard enough, shuddering with pleasure.

 

He’d never been in control of it before. Dean had never asked him, never shown any desire for anything other than Castiel tied up and helpless, or else on his hands and knees in front of him. But he was free, able to control his own body, and what he did with that freedom was roll his hips, using his new body strength to rise and fall, his hands on Dean’s shoulders, his chest, undoing his buttons and spreading his shirt open wide.

 

On a whim he reached down, gripping his own cock as he ground and bucked, working to a steady rhythm and doing his best to keep it up despite the burn in his thighs.

 

“God, look at you,” Dean purred. “My filthy angel.”

 

“M’not an angel any more,” Cas protested, weakly, rolling his hips in a circle, huffing out a breath. Sweat was breaking out across his brow already, his hair sticking down against it. An angel wouldn’t be sweating.

 

“You’re right. My  _ broken _ , filthy angel.”

 

And Castiel just kept moving, kept grinding down, squeezing his muscles around Dean in the way he knew drove him crazy.

 

“So gorgeous. Who would have ever thought you’d do the things you do for me?” Dean breathed. He was starting to sound unsteady now, but he reached out a shaking hand and stroked Castiel’s cheek, petted him so very gently. Cas huffed and groaned, and turned his head toward the touch.

 

“Good boy,” Dean cooed.

 

Castiel very much liked being a good boy. He liked the praise. He liked the touches. He liked Dean’s hard cock caressing his insides.

 

It could have stayed that slow, but Cas wanted more, and so as Dean came closer, Castiel shifted his weight forward and began to push himself, his muscles protesting as he moved faster over Dean’s cock, more urgently. It made Dean moan and flail, grabbing for the cushions, pulling one up toward his face--

 

But Castiel was free, and he grabbed Dean’s wrists and pushed down on them, squeezed down hard on Dean’s cock and tugged him through several more rough thrusts.

 

Dean came with Castiel looking right into his surprised face.

 

His eyes turned to inky black.

 

Before Castiel could react more than surge with panic, Dean was rolling them both over, pinning Castiel to the bed with inhuman strength. Dean jackhammered into him through each pulse of his orgasm, spilling over inside him. He held Cas pinned like a butterfly until he was completely spent, and then he pulled out, rising up off the bed easily.

 

Dean looked exhausted, but he was already tucking himself back into his pants, buttoning up his shirt, while Cas recoiled helplessly on the bed, pulled up tight toward the headboard.

 

“You shouldn’t have done that, Cas.”

 

“You’re a demon!” Cas cried, his voice breaking. The shock had left his body in stasis, his own erection abandoned in the midst of what he was seeing. He couldn’t seem to come up with any useful questions, so he just stared at Dean in dismay, in horror.

 

“Sam’s little cure never worked. I was never in another person’s body.” Dean said, and suddenly it all fell into place. The bondage, the sex--that hadn’t been Dean at all. It had been the demon, playing with him. But how hadn’t Castiel been able to tell? He’d always been able to tell a demon from a human.

 

Right. A human. He wasn’t an angel any more. He wouldn’t have been able to tell. But still, with how well he knew  _ Dean _ , he should have been able to notice something was off with him. But he hadn’t. He’d comforted himself that this was just Dean’s hang ups over sex, or worse, that there was something wrong with Castiel himself, and the thought that he had seen the signs and imagined them away filled him with even more despair. 

 

“Dean…”

 

“And now the game’s up. It was fun while it lasted. I wanted to see how long it would take you or Sam to work it out.”

 

“Don’t--” Cas protested, pulling forward. He didn’t know what he was asking for.

 

“What? Don’t what? Don’t kill him? Why not, Cas?”

 

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he breathed. “Sam...you can let Sam go.”

 

“He’ll come after me.”

 

Cas stared at Dean like he didn’t know him. In some ways, he didn’t. He tried to think of a way to make Dean spare Sam, a way he could convince Dean to just leave Sam be.

 

“I know a spell,” Castiel said, shakily. “A spell that will make him forget you. It works just like the angel spell, the power I used to have, and you--”

 

“Why should I? What do I get out of that, Cas? I don’t even get to kill him, and honestly I’m starting to think  _ I really want to _ . If he can’t tell his brother from a demon, then he’s not the brother - the hunter - I raised.”

 

Cas didn’t know what to say about that, at least not right away. He stared hopelessly at Dean for a little bit longer. It was only as Dean turned away that Cas realized what he was supposed to say, what Dean was waiting for him to say. This was what it was all about; a trap from which Castiel couldn’t possibly escape.

 

“Me,” Castiel said. “You get me.”

 

Cas caught a glimpse of Dean’s smirk as he turned back toward him. “You? I’ve already  _ had _ you, Cas. I’ve had you every single way I could have wanted you.”

 

“N-no. Because I know, now. It’s going to be different.” Cas swallowed. It was already different. Dean’s come was dribbling down his thigh, and Cas felt repulsed by it. “It’s different. A-and I can… I can help you. With whatever you want to do. Not just sex.”

 

He lowered his eyes, and flinched when Dean’s hand touched his cheek.

 

“I might ask a lot of you, Cas. But you’re right. I might need an angel around. You could be useful.”

 

“I’m not an angel,” Castiel said again. He hated having to repeat it. What he’d lost...it was like a pit inside him. “Metatron took my grace. I’m nothing now.”

 

“Oh, that? I found that a month ago.”

 

Castiel felt exhausted by all the surprises. His shoulders sank, and he stared bleakly at Dean. “You’ve had it? All this time, you’ve had my grace, and you left me like this?”

 

“You seemed to enjoy being human.”

 

It was true. Castiel had enjoyed being human. But… It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that he could have enjoyed sex as an angel, was it? He’d gotten his first erection as an angel. It wasn’t as though he  _ couldn’t _ do the things Dean wanted him to do with his grace. But no, Dean had just liked him the way he was, weak and helpless; obedient.

 

“I suppose you have no intention of returning it to me.”

 

Dean shook his head. “Not true. I’ve found a solution to that, too. I’ve had so much time, and this teleporting thing… Once I took the wards on the Bunker down, it turned out it was pretty easy.”

 

Castiel wasn’t sure he wanted to know what else Dean had been doing. He’d been blind. He’d been blind to all of it, playing along with Dean’s stupid sex games without even realizing what was going on.

 

“Then what? What is it going to take?”

 

“A profound bond. A spell, tying us both together, so that you can’t use your powers on me. And this.”

 

Dean ducked down beside the bed, heaving something back. Castiel scrambled a little higher up the headboard, wide eyes watching as the demon straightened back with an ornate gold collar in his hand. It could have been anything, could have been a weapon, but in some ways this was worse.

 

“You’re joking,” Cas hissed.

 

“Do you want your grace back or not? No? That’s not incentive enough for you? Well how about this--put the collar on, Cas, or both you and Sammy are dog meat.”

 

Castiel hesitated. Was there any point in saying no? Obviously there was no point in asking if the collar did more than Dean said it did, because either way Castiel wasn’t going to like it. But Dean’s - the real Dean - had given him one job to do. He had to look after Sam. It was the one thing he could do for the man he loved. This man, though? This wasn’t Dean; not any more, at least not so far as Castiel was concerned.

 

“The deal first. You won’t hurt Sam, you’ll cast the spell on him and let him go free.”

 

“Sure thing, babe. Pucker up.”

 

Dean moved around the edge of the bed directly, and Castiel seized handfuls of the blanket beneath him, hardly daring to breathe. Now he knew, he didn’t want Dean touching him, least of all kissing him, but Dean leant in and put one hand on the back of his neck while Castiel seized up, and kissed him bruisingly on the mouth.

 

Castiel trembled as Dean pulled away, speaking in latin, and a moment later he was closing the gold collar around Castiel’s throat, clicking it shut with such firm authority that it drew a whimper from Cas.

 

“Now say ‘I do’, Cas.”

 

It made him sick to the stomach, but he did what he was told, and the gold collar became hot, then unbearable, burning against his skin. He gasped for breath, letting go of the blanket to claw at it, but already the metal was cooling, and it seemed to Cas that it was softer too, flexible and yet somehow glued in place against his throat.

 

“Now you can’t hurt me. Even if I broke the deal, or asked you to kill Sam for me.” Castiel startled, but Dean placed a hand on his shoulder. “But I won’t. I’ll honor our arrangement because you’re such a damn fine fuck, and I don’t need you getting surly every time I ask you to bend over.”

 

“My grace,” Castiel prompted, his throat feeling raw. It felt like the collar had wounded him, but he knew that his grace would heal whatever it had done--it might even be enough to throw off the spell entirely. If he was just strong enough…

 

Dean pulled away from him again, climbing back off the bed and making his way back to his box, or whatever it was he’d pulled out from under the bed. Maybe it was the same duffel bag he’d lugged around for the last two months with all the sex toys in it. Could it be… Could it be that all the many times they’d had sex, his grace had been that close this whole time? Why hadn’t he been able to feel it?

 

What Dean presented horrified him. His grace glowed blue and bright inside the shaft of a glass penis. Cas balked away, but Dean stepped in closer, and with nothing more than an open handed gesture, no chains and shackles in sight, he pinned Cas in place like a butterfly with just the strength of his telekinetic demon powers.

 

Dean stepped up closer, his eyes once again darkening into inky blackness.

 

“Spread your legs. I’ve been saving this one for a while now, but this is the right moment… Yeah, that’s it.”

 

The humiliation of the idea of sucking his grace out of the dildo as Cas had imagined was suddenly repeated tenfold by the implication that Dean was going to fuck him with it instead. Y yet Cas did as he was told just as he had done so many times before, opening his legs wider, and then cooperating with a sob as Dean’s hand pressed against his chest. He lay down on his back, trembling and fraught, as Dean climbed into position between his thighs and guided the thick glass dildo inside him, using the slip of the lube from before to slam it home.

 

“That’s right. There you go. Now let’s see if we can’t fuck the angel back into you, shall we?”

 

Was it any different now he knew? Was getting held down and fucked by Dean with inanimate objects really that different now he was a demon? The pressure was the same, the steady thrust of the dildo the same overwhelming rhythm as it had been every time Dean had done this before. His cock curled in betrayal toward his belly with very little prompting, spurned on by the new, exciting sensation of the cool glass dildo.

 

Castiel couldn’t help himself. He’d learned to let the humiliation turn him on, and that he was only  _ more _ humiliated turned him on  _ more _ , until his toes were trembling and his cock was leaking untouched onto his stomach. When Dean triggered something on the back of the dildo there was a snap of releasing air, and his grace shot into his body, liquid hot just like Dean’s own ejaculations. At once Cas came, but he came in a spiral of transdimensional energy, a ripcord pulling through him. His eyes glowed bright blue as he threw his head back, mouth wide open in a shouting scream.

 

So much for staying quiet.

 

When he came down, cooling come drying against his chest, Dean was leaning right over him.

 

“So pretty. I had no idea you were so pretty. _ Beautiful _ , really.”

 

Dean could see Castiel’s true shape. He tried to move, but the dildo was still inside him, and Dean applied just a little more of his weight to hold him down. Strange. He’d expected to be able to push him away easily, but despite applying the full strength of his newly returned grace, Dean just didn’t budge.

 

Maybe the spell worked on his powers after all… 

 

“I should have done this a lot sooner. Then again, maybe you wouldn’t have been such a good boy for me then, huh Cas?”

 

_ A good boy. _ Castiel shuddered, twisting ever so slightly, wishing fervently that Dean would take the dildo out. Almost as soon as he thought it, Dean did just that, placing the empty, sticky shaft down on Cas’ belly.

 

“My little slut angel,” Dean continued. “I’m going to really enjoy this, Cas. All of it. Now you know about me...well that opens up a whole lot of possibilities. Until right now I had to pretend, rein it in, but now I don’t have to worry about appearances I can fuck you however I want, wherever I want, as many times as I want. And you’re going to eat it all up, aren’t you?”

 

Cas said nothing, so Dean pressed. “Use your words.”

 

“Yes, Dean.”

 

Because of course he would. He couldn’t resist it. He couldn’t fight against the pull of his own arousal, couldn’t avoid just how desperately he craved the simulation. Dean was petting his hair now with lube sticky fingers, and Castiel was leaning into it. Even if he could see the sultry darkness of Dean’s spirit now, the unavoidable twisted black bitterness of his real form spidering out from his human shape, he couldn’t help but find Dean beautiful; somehow even  _ more _ beautiful, despite the complete destruction of his soul.

 

He would do what he was told. He’d lap it up. Castiel  _ wanted _ it, and he couldn’t stand himself for that. Trying to pretend this wasn’t Dean, trying to resist...he was already falling apart at the seams, ashamed of himself for being so humiliatingly easy.

 

“Good boy,” Dean cooed again, leaning in to press a kiss to Castiel’s temple. 

 

That was when the door rattled open, Sam throwing himself through it with his shotgun in his hand, taking in the entirety of the debauched view.

 

“J-Jesus… Oh my God, I--fuck.”

 

As quick as he’d come, Sam had vanished, and Dean turned lazily, unflustered, back toward Castiel, smiling predatorially at him.

 

“I think Sammy needs a bit of a mind bleach, don’t you? Once we’re done here, let’s go and help him forget.”

 

“You mean it?” Castiel asked, hesitantly. Despite Dean’s promise, he’d still, somehow, expected him to go back on them.

 

“Sure, baby,” Dean cooed, the epithet once more guiding Castiel in the knowledge that they were ‘training’ again, even if the hands crawling intentionally up toward Castiel’s shoulders to pull him away from the headboard didn’t make that just as clear. “I’m not all that bad. Hell, since he’s not going to remember, this time maybe you can make as much noise as you want, spread your wings and really let it rip.” 

 

Not that it really mattered. Face down on the bed again, Castiel’s cries and moans didn’t carry all that far. He spread his wings for Dean, though, and somehow--somehow being able to do that again, when he’d thought that it had been ripped from him forever, was satisfying like no orgasm could ever be.

 

\-----

 

Castiel lowered himself back down to his knees the moment that Hannah’s body hit the ground. His grip around the angel blade didn’t falter, even though her blood had splashed up his arm in the process. Dean looked across at him from behind the abandoned police car, and Cas could feel the demon searching his face, looking for any hint of uncertainty or disloyalty.

 

But Castiel was loyal. Killing Hannah might have troubled him before, but his loyalty to Heaven was gone now. He only had one King now.

 

“You’re all covered in blood, Cas. Why don’t you step out of those clothes?”

 

At once, Cas began to unbutton his shirt, standing back up so as to work more quickly. There was no question any more, and to tell the truth he’d been fucked in worse places. Dean had surprised him; he murdered monsters more than people, seeming to pursue in this new cruel state the same things which had inspired him as a human. He killed demons who refused his rule, and vampires, and werewolves, and a whole host of terrible angels who had wanted to kill Castiel for his new devotion. And Dean had fucked him in the wake of all those killings, pushed him face down in their blood and torn into him--and Castiel had let him.

 

So why not now, with Hannah lying dead beside him?

 

Dean curled his hand across the back of Cas’ neck, thumbing over the ever present gold collar, and pushed him deliberately face down on top of the police cruiser. Castiel could see Hannah’s crumpled body from here, and the bodies of the other angels he’d slain at Dean’s command. That was the point. But the sting of it had passed, and all Castiel could do was croon and roll his hips back as he begged for Dean’s cock.

 

The demon was as rough as Castiel always needed him to be. Dean ploughed into him, shameless and deliberately, slamming into Cas while Castiel keened and pushed his hips back to meet Dean’s thrusts. Castiel always came, but he had learned over the years to control himself better, and he wrung himself out until Dean was pulsing inside him. Trying and failing to find any decent purchase on the slippery hood of the police cruiser, Castiel cried out, calling Dean’s name as he spasmed beneath him, coming untouched between his own hot body and the car.

 

Dean stroked his back as he pulled out, his lips already pressed into a dark smile as Cas straightened back up beside him. He patted Castiel on the hip affectionately.

 

“You did real good today. I’m impressed. Maybe tomorrow I’ll let you pick the toys?”

 

Castiel shook his head no, watching patiently as Dean tucked his spent cock away, while he himself stood naked in the middle of the street, come dripping down the inside of his thigh. “I prefer when  _ you _ choose,” Cas answered.

 

“Yeah you do,” Dean laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it awesome, my angel. You’ve earned it.”

  
Looking back at the chaos and death they’d wrought, Castiel felt an odd hint of pride. The usual tinge of concern was gone, any doubts he’d had long since crumbled. A year ago, he’d have remembered how at odds that pride was alongside the guilt of his actions, but there was no guilt now. There was no shame. There was only the need to please Dean, and - at last - Castiel felt as though he suited the service to which he was put. He was  _ good _ at this, not the failure that he had always been as an Angel of the Lord, but a good servant, and eminently capable of pleasing Dean in any and every way he desired. That was all Castiel wanted; all he’d  _ ever _ wanted, and if Heaven was broken, he would serve Dean. He would do God’s work through Dean, end of story, because so far as Castiel was concerned Dean  _ was _ his only God; the only one that mattered, the only one who  _ deserved  _ his love and faithfulness.


End file.
